Awakening (Part 3)
by star wars for Jesus
Summary: As the Force stirs, Kylo Ren faces a powerful new Force user-one whose origins go back to the time of Republic.


**_Part Three: Awakening_**

 ** _Vader_**

For years beyond measure—beyond memory itself—the order of the galaxy had been maintained not only by the Force itself, but by the beings in which it chose to manifest its various aspects. For the Bogan, the dark side, it chose a young man, masculinity being a physical portrayal of the Bogan's nature—of its aggression, its passion, its will to dominate. The Ashla, on the other hand, chose a young female, the sister of the young man. She, like the Ashla is to the Bogan, was his opposite, his true foil. Where he represented unbridled selfishness and cruelty, she was altruism and compassion; where he was war and deception and every matter that tears living beings apart, she was the fabric that sewed them back together. He destroyed, mercilessly; she created. He would cause the sun to set, to bring darkness upon a world—only to have her help it to rise again.

Their fundamental differences, although seemingly divisive, were what ensured that the galaxy remained whole. The disparity between their natures, after all, was what allowed the galaxy balance, a harmony between good and evil. If he killed, stole, destroyed, she would arrive to restore, to bring back to life. If she created too much life, to the extent that a world was suffocating under the weight of its own overpopulation, he brought plagues or fire or whatever else was necessary to preserve the delicate balance of life. Indeed, one could argue that in the end, both siblings were actually benevolent forces, for whatever they did—whether war or peace, creation or destruction—was done for the good of the galaxy. Was done in service of some grand, overarching plan that remained unseen to mortal eyes, despite the fact that each and every living being—past, present, or future—ultimately played a role in ensuring the fulfillment of this end. Some will play a larger role than others, perhaps; truthfully, most beings will only contribute an infinitesimal amount, like a single rain drop landing on a waterless world. But when all is said and done, those infinitesimal amounts will add up, and even the most insignificant of lives will have counted for something.

Enough raindrops can form a mighty sea.

But Anakin Skywalker is not one of those insignificant beings. Quite the opposite, in fact. If the majority of beings in all of time and space are single raindrops, then he is a downpour, a deluge.

He is the storm itself.

Because despite what the galaxy might believe—despite what Obi-Wan Kenobi told Luke Skywalker on Tattooine—Vader did not murder Anakin Skywalker. He betrayed him, yes; by capitalizing on the young Jedi's deep-set desire for love and gnawing fear of loss, Vader turned Anakin's quest for happiness into a victory for the dark lord, in which he asserted control of and corrupted Skywalker's potential for power. But murder Anakin—kill him? No, Vader never quite managed to do that, despite what some might tell you. Rather, the reverse would one day become true.

Anakin would kill Vader.

But how, you might ask, did Anakin accomplish this? The answer to that is surprisingly simple: He never died. Not when Anakin decided to avenge his mother's death on Tattooine, surrendering himself to Vader's bloodlust. Not when his blade sliced through Mace Windu's arm as it prepared to deliver the coup'de'grace, or when that same weapon cut down innocent after innocent in the cavernous halls of the decades-silent Jedi Temple. Even when his body was used to end the mortal life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his blade passing through the old Jedi like a gust of wind, he was still alive, waiting for the moment to wrest control from Vader. To retake his body, his life, his destiny.

His very soul.

That moment finally came when Vader gazed down at Anakin's son.

If Anakin had been dead like Obi-Wan assumed, then Vader would have, without hesitation, struck Luke down. Or, worse, he simply would've let him die, for Luke represented something Vader simply could not tolerate. Luke was—just like Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, and even the Jedi who fell in the Temple—a link to Anakin, a reminder that the body the Sith Lord now inhabited had once belonged to someone else. That he had at one time been the weak one, the one cowering in the corner, while Anakin had been the one standing in the sun.

But Anakin, though he had lived in the shadows for quite some time, still had enough strength left to step out into the sun one last time.

Like anyone who's spent a vast amount of time in darkness, Anakin's first reaction to the light was to shrink away, shield his eyes. It was difficult, witnessing firsthand how much his defeat at Vader's hand had cost the galaxy. Seeing what he had, by losing to Vader, allowed to happen. The Republic he fought for, bled for, had been crushed, ground to ashes by the iron heel of the Empire. Freedom and liberty, ideals a former slave such as Anakin cherished deeply, had been all but erased from existence. Even the Emperor himself, in retrospect, wasn't free; he was as much a slave to power as Anakin had once been a slave to Watto or the Hutts. He hadn't realized it, but the Emperor had devoted all he had to achieve power—his loved ones, his master, his very humanity—and he was still then, in that moment, giving more and more.

He was giving his life for it.

Of course, The Emperor never realized this until the very end, when Vader's remaining arm had lifted him into the air and flung him down into what the last great Lord of the Sith could've have sworn was one of the Corellian Hells. After all, he still clung to the illusion that he was the one in control, that he was the master of his own destiny. To him, destroying Luke Skywalker with Force Lightning was _his_ decision, part of _his_ plan—not a major plot point of the only story that has ever mattered.

The only story, period.

When The Emperor decided that Luke Skywalker's continued existence would only be a threat to his power, hurling Force Lightning at the young Jedi like some god of old, he unwittingly dissolved the door that kept Anakin imprisoned and let the light spill in. For the first time in decades, Anakin could see what had transpired since Vader had subjugated him—and he didn't like it. Not only because of the aforementioned effects of Vader's reign—the demise of the Republic, of freedom itself—but because he finally recognized what the Emperor had taken from him. From the vantage point of retrospection, he gazed back at the past and identified each and every way the Emperor had wronged him, starting with the way the former Chancellor had toyed with him in a relationship that was ultimately empty. False. Indeed, it was the Emperor's attempt to become his "friend" and father figure that angered Anakin the most. While Anakin had been seeking the love and affection that the Jedi so often failed to give him, The Emperor—Darth Sidious, Palpatine, the Dark Lord—had simply been grooming him not into his successor but into a footstool upon which he could mount his throne.

More than that, though, Anakin hated the fact that he had allowed himself to be so easily manipulated. He was the supposed to be the Chosen One, the one in whom everyone placed their hope—not some gullible boy who lost a foot race to an older, more cunning runner. He was meant to be the one who destroyed the Sith—not the man who unwittingly aided in their rise to power. Granted, Anakin was smart enough to know that he was never the one who committed any of the atrocities demanded by The Emperor; he had been incapacitated in those moments, unable to lift a finger in protest as Vader carried out his master's commands. But he does know that if only he had been strong enough to resist Vader, to conquer him, the dark lord might've never had the chance to do so. If he had only known Vader was there, had been able to see that a shadow was lingering on the edges of his soul, Anakin wouldn't be here now, watching the Emperor murder his only son.

Instead…Instead he would be where, exactly? Probably with Padme, no doubt, in an apartment overlooking the vast cityscape of Coruscant. Luke might be there as well, along with the sister that Anakin had sensed pervading his son's thoughts. If the Jedi Order had finally abandoned the mindless dogma of the Jedi Code, he might have still been a Jedi—and better yet, both his children could be Jedi serving at his side. Perhaps like him, they would be permitted to have families of their own; maybe they could openly possess what Anakin had once had to strive to keep secret. Luke could be a proud father, beaming as his children raced around Padme and Anakin Skywalker's Coruscanti apartment, and Leia could be a mother who possessed every ounce of beauty and strength that were her mother's crowning glory. And he and Padme—they could be watching their children and grandchildren from the warmth of the sunlight, their hands woven together in a bond stronger than Force itself.

But the time when that future was possible passed by, forever out of Anakin's reach. All he could do—all that was left—was ensure that the future would be brighter, better. Not dark and lightless like Vader had once made it, but shining with stars too numerous to count.

In the past, Vader saved Palpatine from death, slicing through the arm of his would-be executioner.

In the present, Anakin saved his son from Palpatine.

Hoisting the Emperor into the air with his one remaining arm, Anakin realized that this act would never atone for past, never make it right. Vader would still betray Mace Windu in the Chancellor's office, haunted both by the prospect of being alone and never attaining the power he had long craved. The Jedi—masters, padawans, younglings—would still fall at the Sith's blade, their deaths leaving behind an empty chasm in the Force, a void. Obi-Wan would still have his heart cleaved in two as he heard the words "I hate you" from the man who looked for all the world like his closest friend, but wasn't. And Padme—she would die without him, her last thoughts plagued by the memory of the monster that possessed her husband's body.

And he might never make the future full of stars.

But as he used the final dregs of his strength to hurl the Emperor into the seemingly endless abyss of a power shaft, Anakin knew that he had to try. It was all he had left. Was his only remaining purpose in life.

He existed for this one desperate act.

And with that singular thought exploding through his mind like the death of a star, Anakin watched the Emperor—as well as Vader, and the darkness itself—fall.

 ** _Kylo Ren_**

As his blade lashed out at the small, deceptively-ordinary girl—the same girl, he suspected, who had eluded him all those years ago—Kylo Ren realized that the Force felt somehow…different. Changed. It wasn't big at first—more like a tiny whisper from the distant reaches of the galaxy. But then as he waited, as he listened, it grew; it became louder, harder to ignore. By the time he had forced the girl to the edge of a ravine, their blades locked against each other like hands intertwined, it was deafening. Was ear-splitting, like the roar of a beast emerging from slumber.

And then he felt something else, something quiet. Barely above a whisper. Indeed, Ren wasn't even sure he had heard or sensed anything until the sound came again, just a breath louder this time.

 _"_ _Ben_ ," the voice said in his mind. _"Ben, can you feel it?"_

At first, Ren thought that the voice was new, and he wondered if his grandfather had finally abandoned him. He couldn't blame him if he had, after all—not after what he'd done. There was still much of Vader's past that was closed to him, that even his ghost refused to share, but Ren was familiar enough with his grandfather's story to know that his greatest regret in life had been killing someone close to him. Who that had been, he couldn't say—but that hardly mattered. All that did is that sometimes, when he slept, his dreams were haunted by Anakin's darkest memories…as well as his darkest deeds.

So it was a surprise when Ren realized that the voice did indeed belong to his grandfather, whose presence had faded from his side the moment he killed the man he known since infancy. More surprising was the fact that despite some of his previous encounters, the mechanized, artificial voice of Darth Vader was now gone; at the very least, it was being drowned out. Instead, he only heard Anakin Skywalker's gentle, reserved voice—which was much like his own, he realized. Perhaps the suspicions of the late Knights of Ren had some merit: perhaps he was not a just follower of his grandfather, but a reincarnation of him.

For a moment, Ren considered replying—or at least answering his grandfather's mental query with a thought. It would be so simple, after all; simply think "I feel it, too" and that would be it. Would be all he would need to do. But as Ren continued to press his blade against the girl's, both weapons hissing and spitting like the star dying overhead, he decided to remain silent. The last time he'd had a conversation with his grandfather, the man had been intent on turning Ren from his ways—and that was the last thing he needed right now.

Speaking of right now…

Even though he was holding back, Ren could tell that the girl's strength was waning. She was strong for a waif—he'd give her that. And given that she was apparently untrained, the Force was uncharacteristically strong with her, perhaps even stronger than it was for those of the Skywalker line. But even with her not-insignificant potential for power, she still was no match for an opponent like him—not when it came to raw physical strength or control over the Force. Where she was slight and wiry, he was tall, imposing, and—although he was lean—particularly well-muscled. While her Force abilities were restricted to raw, undisciplined outbursts of power, his were refined, nuanced, allowing him to augment his combat in ways that she couldn't. She only relied on the muscles of her arms to deliver or parry blows; he, on the other hand, allowed the Force to guide all of these actions, make them stronger. Better. In fact, if there was no need for self-control, he could have easily forced her off the ledge of the cliff with a small Force-push…or even his own arms.

But he couldn't do that—wouldn't. Not when he had been seeking her so desperately, and for so long. Not when the rest of the Knights of Ren had fallen in an attempt to obtain her. Not when the galaxy—and perhaps the very Force itself—depended upon her continued existence.

Not when she could save them all.

So instead of letting her fall to her death, he met her gaze, studied her with the rapture of an astrologer gazing at the stars. There was something special about her, something different; however, it was something that Ren couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was the fact that for one so young, she seemed impossibly old—older than Snoke, or even the Emperor himself, although Ren didn't see how that was possible. She was far too inexperienced in the ways of the Force to prolong her own life; that skill required decades, if a not a lifetime of study to learn, and even some of the great Force users of old had been unable to achieve such a power. Moreover, alchemy of any kind required a heavy reliance on the dark side, and Ren could tell from her aura that the girl had yet to have a true connection with the darkness. Certainly, she could touch it, graze it with her fingertips. But she was, for now, steeped in the light side—to the point that Ren felt as if he needed to squint simply to be near her.

If he was darkness, the complete and utter absence of light, she was a risen sun piercing through that darkness.

But even the sun needs to control its own power.

"You need a teacher!" he screeched, face lit by the scarlet and blue flashes of their interlocked blades. Leaning forward, he drew upon the powers of the Ashla and the Bogan, and added the weight of their power to his voice. Made it stronger. More difficult to resist. "I could show you the ways of the Force!"

After the words left his lips, Ren waited, watching for her reaction. She hadn't immediately succumbed to his will, as a less powerful opponent would do, but he had expected that. After their encounter in the interrogation chamber, he knew she had the potential to resist him—but back then, he had been unprepared. His guard had been down. And she…well, she had been physically exhausted, as he could tell she was now. She was strong, certainly—but he need only see her quivering arms and hear labored breathing to know she was flagging. Another few minutes of this, and she would be on her knees, perhaps for reasons beside pure physical exhaustion.

Perhaps she would be kneeling before him as a student to a master.

Invigorated by that thought, he sent a new wave of Force energy coursing through the girl, compelling her to submit, bend to his will. He felt her resist it, fighting his mind as if it were a physical assailant, but he could tell she didn't have much strength left to continue that fight. In what seemed like a gesture of defeat, she lifted her head toward the sky…and let her eyes drift shut.

Outwardly, she became absolutely still, a tree standing resolute amidst a storm. Her breathing slowed, to the point that she appeared to have stopped breathing altogether; a few seconds later, the Force allowed him to sense that her heartbeat soon followed suit. Indeed, she was just as still—she as motionless—inwardly as she was outwardly. Her thoughts, which had once raced as wildly as her heart, had now calmed. No longer was she frantic, out of control, overwhelmed by fear; instead, she was serene, centered, and filled with a peace so absolute that there was only one place from which it could have flowed.

The Ashla—the light side of the Force.

Ren stared down at her, bemused. The Ashla wasn't just filling her, as it did for him when he found use for the light side; it was _part_ of her. And it wasn't a recent addition, either—wasn't a new piece, a new part. No, it had been there for some time, perhaps most of her life. Or perhaps since she had been conceived. That would certainly explain why she practically reeked of the light side, after all: Because it was as much a part of her as his heart or skin or bones were a part of him.

The Ashla was knit into the very fabric of her being.

A split second after Ren experienced this revelation, the light side roared to life within the girl, an event that was every bit as overwhelming as the change he had earlier sensed in the Force. To him, it felt like drowning—drowning in the light, something he'd never done… not even in his days as a Jedi pupil. The Force, including both the Ashla and the Bogan, had been too diminished for that. Besides, he had never been truly strong in just one aspect of the Force; instead, he was always careful to balance his power. To draw from both sides equally, unlike the girl was doing now. She was…well, she was gorging herself on the light, to the point that Ren swore she glowed from within.

In the next moment, that light was expanding outward in an explosion that emanated from the girl's soul. The force of that explosion struck him straight in the chest, flooding his body with enough kinetic energy to flatten him. He was not, however, shaken physically; rather than knock him back or throw him off balance, the light's blow was absorbed into his body. As a result, he was able to remain standing, but his insides were awash with sudden, insistent pain. Coupled with the still-smarting wound he'd received from Chewbacca, the pain was almost sickening, so much so he worried he would either retch or fade into unconsciousness.

Heading swimming, Ren eased the pressure he was placing on the girl's stolen blade. Hoping to coax his body into remaining conscious, he tried to use the effort he had been devoting to fending off the girl into bringing his pain under control, relaxing his abdominal and pectoral muscles to ease the burning in his chest. He knew it was risky to do so—relaxing his muscles left him vulnerable to the girl, if and when she decided to strike back—but was it was a necessary risk, one he was more than willing to take. It would do him no good to fall unconscious here, for while he was now somewhat vulnerable right now, losing consciousness would leave him utterly helpless.

Within the girl, the light compressed into a luminescent orb.

And then that orb shattered.

Snarling, teeth bared like some feral animal, the girl lashed out at him. Her lightsaber pushed against his with impossible strength, breaking the link between the two blades and sending him stumbling backwards. He didn't go far, of course—just a step or two—and he had managed to remain on his feet. That small movement, however, was enough to alter the balance of power; she had an opening now, and there was nothing to stop her from using it. Indeed, she never hesitated, not even to draw in breath.

Gripping her blade tightly, she rained blow after blow upon him, forcing him away from the cliff. Not wanting to expose his back, Ren was forced to move backward in an awkward shuffling movement, making it difficult for him to regain his balance after each heavy-handed strike. He was having trouble balancing period, actually; between the girl's ferocity and the powdery snow beneath his boots, it was difficult to reestablish any sort of physical equilibrium. To keep himself centered, as his uncle had taught him all those years ago. And not just physically centered; he needed to be centered spiritually, to reestablish his focus. More precisely, he needed to think clearly, have his mind on the here and now—not let his frantic mind race aimlessly about, as his body was so close to doing.

Aura crackling with raw fury, the girl swung at his legs, apparently intent on lopping them off. Because his blade had parried hers only a moment before, the blow didn't quite perform its intended purpose; her blade veered slightly to the side, saving him from an impromptu amputation. However, his legs didn't escape completely unscathed, for the blade—though it had been diverted from its original path—was still close enough that it glanced over his right leg. A heartbeat later, his leg buckled as it was flooded by searing pain, and he realized with a sudden burst of panic that the smell of burnt flesh oozing through the air was coming from him.

She'd actually wounded him.

Rather than press her attack as he struggled to keep his feet, the girl instead stood a few paces back, allowing him to recover. As soon as he did so, however, she was upon him again, this time with animal ferocity. Eye aflame, she was a predator—feral, primal, dominated by pure instinct. Where she had been the embodiment of serenity and precision a few moments ago, she had now lost all semblance of control, and was only few steps away from a complete descent into madness. Moreover, she was dangerously close to the dark, her aura all but devoid of the Ashla that had permeated it less than a minute earlier. Instead, Ren could sense something different now: she was drawing upon the Bogan rather than the Ashla, letting its raw, unbridled power fuel her onslaught. Ren, in fact, doubted that anyone could manage such a savage offensive without the aid of the dark side, for that was all the dark side was in the end. Where the light was original, independent, the dark side was merely a by-product of its lighter counterpart in the same way that a lit candle creates a shadow. As a result, it was doomed to consist of corrupt pieces of the Ashla—including life itself. To put it more accurately, the dark side stemmed from every twisted act, whether it be a simple white lie or the pure, uncompromising desire to kill.

The latter swamped the girl's aura like a monsoon.

If he wasn't completely convinced about her intent to end his life, there was no shadow of doubt remaining when she used the opening created by her previous strike to deliver an upward strike his face. Just like her blow to his leg, her blade didn't cut anything off, which was a relief. This was his head, after all; he was fairly certain he needed it. However, her blade did manage to carry enough force to snap his head back, causing the rest of his body to follow suit. Like a felled tree, he hit the ground slowly—giving him just enough time to realize that yet again, the girl had seared his skin.

But this time, the pungent tang of burnt flesh wasn't coming from his leg.

It was coming from his face.

Stunned, Ren let himself simply sprawl across the snow, its icy touch a stark contrast to the burning on his face. Most people, in their ignorance, assumed that a lightsaber felt like any other blade when it connected with your flesh. That being cut by a lightsaber felt just like being sliced with a knife. The truth was, however, that even grazing contact with a lightsaber could be debilitating. While a standard knife or sword merely stung, a lightsaber branded you, searing your skin as if it had been kissed by a flame. Indeed, a blow from a lightsaber—even a passing one—was far worse than a brand. At least with a brand, the burn was superficial, was limited to just the uppermost layers of skin; with a lightsaber, both skin and muscle alike felt like they had been set aflame.

His face engulfed in pain, Ren managed to sit up. His skin was pallid and clammy, almost as white as the snow beneath him, and his eyes were bloodshot as he starred at the girl in horror. She could do it; she could kill him. She could rid the galaxy of one of the few beings who could still touch the Bogan and the Ashla, toss him aside like refuse, and take his place at Snoke's side. With the kind of power she wielded, it would be a matter of time until she decided to do away with the Supreme Leader himself; like Sidious before her, she would assert herself as ruler and subjugate the galaxy, forge it in her own image. Perhaps she would one day become immortal like the Sith Lords of old, proving that no enemy—not even death itself—could keep her contained. She—

Just as soon as he followed that train of thought, a new set of possibilities formed in his mind. Instead of killing him here, the girl would let him live—but she wouldn't allow herself to be trained by Snoke. On the contrary, she would gain enough power to force beings like the Supreme Leader to their knees, like his grandfather had reportedly done to the Bogan and Ashla avatars on Mortis. In fact, Ren sensed that like his grandfather's powers, her abilities her went far beyond containing mere mortals.

She could control the Force itself.

Face still overwhelmed by pain, he realized that the Knights of Ren had been wrong.

Kylo Ren was not a reincarnation of his grandfather—of the Chosen One.

The girl was.

That was why he had sense a change in the Force, why it had roared so loudly that he thought he would go deaf. That was why Supreme Leader had felt an awakening of both the dark side and the light, the Bogan and the Ashla. And that was why now, when Ren reached into the Force, he felt its currents surge through him like flame through a dry forest.

With the Chosen One restored to the flesh, the dormancy that had plagued the Ashla since the fall of the Jedi—and that had gripped the Bogan since the demise of the Empire—had dissolved.

As the ground between himself and the girl ripped into two, forming a chasm between them—between the dark and the light, the good and the evil—Kylo Ren realized that for the first time in over half a century, the Force was no longer sleeping.

The Force had awakened.


End file.
